Behold the busy company. Eyes, fingers, and arms move almost in every
direction with steadiness and speed. Some are “distributing;” that is,
filling their cases with letters from the type pages of books or papers
which have been printed off. This is done with great celerity; the
compositor grasps and reads several sentences at once; and without
again looking at the letters, his nimbly flying fingers deposit them,
one by one, here, there, everywhere, in the square dens to which they
belong. Four thousand “ems” per hour can thus be distributed by a good
compositor, which is about five times as many as he can “compose,” or
set in type; as it is much easier to spend money than to earn it.
Having filled the cases, the workman is ready to “compose.” Standing
in front of the cases which contain the Roman letters, and having
placed the “copy,” or manuscript from which he is to set, upon the
least used part of the upper case, he takes in his left hand the
“composing-stick,” made of brass or iron, with a movable side which
can be adapted to any width of line by means of a screw. He then
commences putting the letters of each word of the copy, with the
necessary points and spaces, into the stick, the thumb of his left
hand meanwhile securing each addition, from left to right along the
line. To facilitate the process, a thin slip of brass, called the
“composing-rule,” is placed in the composing-stick at the outset,
and pulled out and put on the front of a line when completed. When
the stick is full of lines, the compositor, with the fingers of both
hands, lifts them out as if they were a mass of solid metal, and
places them in the “galley,”--a flat board or piece of zinc or brass,
having a ledge at the head, and on one or both sides. To do this last
successfully requires practice and skill. And the young printer,
although no adept in pastry-making, learns, to his disgust, that there
is nothing easier than to make “pi,” as the heap of jumbled type, which
has slipped through his untrained fingers, is termed.
The galley having been filled by the contents of successive sticks, and
the requisite number of pages to form a sheet being completed, they are
arranged upon a bench or “imposing stone,” and surrounded with pieces
of wood, or “furniture,” so as to give a suitable margin for each page.
The whole being then secured in the “chase,” or iron frame, by means of
strips of wood and wedges. This is called “imposing.”
Next, a “proof” is taken by impressing paper upon the type, that the
compositor may see and correct the mistakes he may have made in putting
the copy into type.
Referring again to the engraving, “Composition room,” in the open space
are the “imposing stones,” or “tables,” on which matter in type is
placed in order to arrange it for printing; proofs are taken, errors
corrected, and the “form” finally made ready for the press.
[Illustration: Reading Proof.]
But in this cozy, well-lighted room, sits one whose attitude is the
picture of careworn and earnest attention. No matter what the din in
the building around him, his faculties are concentrated on the pages of
proof. It is one of the proof-readers,--and an assistant who reads the
copy, whose office it is to see that the work goes forth to the public
correct in literary and mechanical execution. His is a wearisome and
responsible task. His eye, with lynx-like vigilance and microscopic
power, must detect the minutest defects of press or author. Faults in
punctuation, grammar, rhetoric, logic, and data he must point out. All
this at a glance, in an establishment crowded with work.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]